FOR
PET LOVERS AND THOSE THINKING OF ADOPTING A PET,
PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:
When I was a puppy, I entertained you
with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your
child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple
of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend.
Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger
at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then
you'd relent, and roll me over for a bellyrub.
My housebreaking took a little longer
than expected, because you were terribly busy, but
we worked on that together. I remember those nights
of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences
and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not
be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs
in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only
got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you
said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for
you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time
at work and on your career, and more time searching
for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted
you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never
chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee
at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She,
now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still
I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection,
and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.
Then the human babies came along and
I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their
pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother
them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt
them, and I spent most of my time banished to another
room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them,
but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their
friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves
up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated
my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything
about them and their touch -- because your touch was
now so infrequent -- and I would have defended them
with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds
and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and
together we waited for the sound of your car in the
driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked
you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of
me from your wallet and told them stories about me.
These past few years, you just answered "yes" and
changed the subject. I had gone from being "your
dog" to "just a dog," and you resented
every expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity
in another city, and you and they will be moving to
an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made
the right decision for your "family," but
there was a time when I was your only family. I was
excited about the car ride until we arrived at the
animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear,
of hopelessness.
You filled out the paperwork and said "I
know you will find a good home for her." They
shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand
the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers."
You had to pry your son's fingers loose
from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please
don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for
him, and what lessons you had just taught him about
friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility,
and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye
pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused
to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline
to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies
said you probably knew about your upcoming move months
ago and made no attempt to find me another good home.
They shook their heads and asked "How
could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in
the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed
us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At
first,whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the
front, hoping it was you that you had changed your
mind -- that this was all a bad dream ... or I hoped
it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who
might save me. When I realized I could not compete
with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies,
oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner
and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for
me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle
after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room.
She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and
told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation
of what was to come, but there was also a sense of
relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As
is my nature, I was more concerned about her.
The burden which she bears weighs heavily
on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every
mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg
as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in
the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago.
She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein.
As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through
my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind
eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak,
she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and
hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went
to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused
or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place
of love and light so very different from this earthly
place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey
to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could
you?" was not directed at her.
It was you, My Beloved Master, I was
thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much
loyalty.
The End.
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